Homecoming
by piratesmiley
Summary: She was not expecting a visit from Elizabeth Bishop, but she should have been. Spoilers for the finale. P/O.
1. Prologue

A/N: I have slaved over this thing since the finale. So by all means, enjoy. :)

Spoilers: Over There Parts 1 & 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe.

* * *

She was not expecting a visit from Elizabeth Bishop, but she should have been.

Tear streaked face, wrinkled, hesitant smile – and the very same eyes as her son. It hurt to look at them, but the small part of her that hadn't gone mad yet welcomed any and all abruptions from the stillness of her captivity.

Olivia walked to the window. Questions bubbled to the surface – but she wasn't going to shout. She was too tired of begging for human decency.

She held a vaguely familiar piece of paper – pressed it to the glass. It was the note Peter had left for his mother after he decided to come home with Olivia. She had already caught snippets – _this man is not who you think_…_I need to go with her…I love you_ – but she took this time to read its entirety. Time was inexhaustible for Olivia; this woman could wait as she read, as her eyes welled, as it spilled over.

She looked up, finally. Her eyes asked questions she couldn't quite formulate. Elizabeth didn't answer, but instead closed her eyes, as if making the most important decision of her long life.

Then she disappeared.

Olivia returned to her seat, confused into solemnity, into indefinite silence.

Then a key turned in an invisible lock and a door broke away from a seamless wall. And there the woman was again.

Olivia wasn't sure what to do. They looked at each other expectantly.

"You want to leave, don't you?" Elizabeth asked, uncertain.

Olivia just nodded, eyes narrowing.

Elizabeth sighed, whispered, "I want to go with you."

Olivia could kind of understand why. But still… "Why should I trust you?"

"I don't know."

That was the truth.

"But I trust you. You love my son."

That also seemed to be the truth.

Olivia nodded again.

And so it was decided.


	2. Chapter One

A/N: And now we start our journey. Thanks for all of your lovely reviews!

* * *

Elizabeth, ever thoughtful, had brought her clothes to change into. This gave her time to think things through.

Mrs. Bishop turned her back to give the woman some privacy.

"How much does Walter know?" Olivia asked. The name sounded wrong on her tongue. This man wasn't Walter; he was a power-hungry monster who had endangered the lives of innocent people, one of which was his own son. He was not a sweet old man.

"Nothing." Or at least, that's what Elizabeth assumed. She had not shown any indication of her defection. She did do quite a bit of snooping, though.

It first started with the note – instructions on destroying the "project" from Peter's father, assurances of safety and love and gratitude, warnings of deceptions and wrongful blame. A surprisingly lengthy explanation of why he had to leave. Who he was leaving with.

Which led Elizabeth to Olivia Dunham.

Elizabeth knew very little of her husband's world. She knew he published a book about his work, that he had started as an experimental scientist in the basement of Harvard and had ended up doing enough good to rise through the ranks to Secretary of Defense.

Perhaps it wasn't _good_, though.

She knew that he died when Peter was taken. Selfishly she believed that he wasn't quite as hurt as she was – that _he_ hadn't been tricked into handing their son over to a kidnapper, that _he_ hadn't been quite as close to their son as she was. But she always beat those feelings back.

Perhaps she shouldn't have.

She knew that her husband combated and controlled the many monstrosities of the world. She didn't know how, or to what extent. She didn't want to know.

She knew that her son reappeared out of nowhere. She knew that somehow Walter had made that happen.

And now she knew that there was something very wrong with that.

Breaking onto her husband's work computer hadn't been quite as hard as she expected. Elizabeth had never been an actress, but she was capable of playing it cool. Nodding to guards, telling his assistant that he had asked her to pick up some things from the office. And she was in.

Almost instantly, like Fate had wanted her to see it, she discovered the report from Colonel Philip Broyles concerning the night Peter left. And she realized the status of the two Olivia's. And realized the implications of needing an agent in another universe.

And realized, in fact, that there are other universes.

And realized that her son was taken to one.

And realized the reason Walter needed him back.

And realized that Walter was not the man she had married.

And realized what she had to do.

* * *

And so she was here.

"You didn't tell him anything?" Olivia asked.

"No," Elizabeth confirmed. "He's out of the country until tomorrow."

"Well, that explains why he hasn't been visiting," she muttered.

"What?"

"Oh, you didn't know?" Olivia feigned lightness. "Your husband likes to check up on me. Every day. To make sure I'm still going crazy. To make sure I haven't forgotten why I'm here."

Elizabeth gulped audibly.

"Okay," Olivia said.

They both turned around. Surveyed each other, still feigning detachment from the other. Still waiting for something to go wrong.

"Okay," Elizabeth nodded.

They made for the door.

They would not leave a note.


	3. Chapter Two

A/N: Thanks for all the sweet reviews! You guys are excellent. :)

* * *

There was no easy route out.

Olivia didn't know how she'd gotten there in the first place; Elizabeth only knew how she got to Olivia's cell and back. She had not counted the guards, taken stock of their weaponry. She was not an agent.

Olivia shoved thought out and let false confidence, sticky sweet, coat her warmly, like she was used to. It was the gut reaction in times of stress.

There were two guards at the turn of the hallway. Olivia took one out immediately – a blow to the head – and fought with the other, taking him down before he could reach his gun and took it for herself. She reached over the first guard and handed his gun to Elizabeth.

The woman just stared.

"What do you want me to do with _that_?"

Olivia sighed. "Just hold it for me."

The poor woman looked like she was going to faint. Olivia pushed her forward and they set down the maze with Elizabeth directing. Up the elevator to ground level, knocking out two guards on the way, and out the front door.

Like nothing.

But of course she knew there were cameras, and that she had cause quite a ruckus, even without actually killing anybody, and so the cops would arrive to apprehend them in at least two minutes, maybe less.

Immediately upon re-entering the world, Olivia shoved the two guns in her companion's purse – at which she looked far worse than dismayed – and set off in the opposite direction of Elizabeth's car.

Elizabeth herself looked like she was about to have a heart attack.

"Are you okay?" Olivia asked as she pulled her hood over her head.

"I think so," Elizabeth replied, breathing deeply. "I've never done anything like that before."

"Learn to like new things," she said, and almost, _almost_ smiled.

They walked for a little while. "So, is there a plan here?" Elizabeth asked.

"I don't know yet. I don't know where we can go to even think about a plan. Somewhere quiet, but busy. And for the love of God, somewhere with no _cameras_—"

"Central Park?"

And so they went. Unfortunately, it was a long walk on foot. Olivia's lack of a Show-Me ruled out the bus and the subway. She wasn't sure if they should hail a taxi, either. About twelve blocks in, though, Elizabeth started to look pale.

Olivia would _not_ let Peter's mother die.

Not that she was in danger of dying; she was just a tired old woman who hadn't had this much physical exertion since she quit taking tae bo classes two years ago. But her immediate reaction – the aversion to _his_ hurt, the protection of _his_ loved one – made the caution worth it.

* * *

So Central Park hadn't gone well last time, but Olivia was so good at faking optimism that even Fate believed her.

Just kidding. But she didn't have any options left – no time, no resources, no knowledge.

No hope.

_Keep moving._

They found a place open enough to be inconspicuous and secluded enough to not be overheard.

"I've never crossed universes before," Elizabeth said, somewhat breathlessly, giving Olivia the lead.

"I've done it. Twice. But never on my own. Walter and William had this machine, to use as a doorstop, but it must be gone by now."

This was all nonsense to Elizabeth, so she just nodded. "So how do we get out?"

And that was the question, wasn't it? Olivia had no back up, no manpower, no genius, mad or otherwise, to guide her. She barely understood how she'd gotten there in the first place, and there was nobody here left that she could trust.

Instead of letting that sink in, she deflected.

"Why _do_ you want to cross over so badly?"

It was a fair question. It was difficult to answer, though.

"I just saw my son for the first time in over twenty years. My husband is…a stranger. I need to stick with Peter. I…I just…I miss…" Her eyes welled up and she started to shake. This was too much information, too fast. Too much emotion, too much change.

But she had to be strong. Peter had given her that attribute without a second thought, and she needed to live up to her son's expectations.

Olivia just nodded. She understood this woman's disjointed explanation. She placed a hand on her arm in comfort.

That's when the cops showed up.


	4. Chapter Three

A/N: I don't know about this one. Let me know what you think. Thanks again for all the reviews!

* * *

"Fuck," Olivia muttered.

It was fair use of the expletive, but Elizabeth hadn't heard the word uttered since she was a teenager. _So even the lingo is different._ But that was no one's primary concern at this point.

"Let's go," the young woman whispered, switching into high gear. She clutched the older woman's hand and dragged her into the forest.

Olivia learned her lesson – she almost lost one of Peter's parents; she wasn't going to let that happen again.

They would've been out okay had Olivia not heard the first gun shot. She hadn't heard one since she'd blacked out and been taken to the holding facility, however long ago that was. She startled visibly, tangibly, at the sound, to the point where Elizabeth was frightened for her molecular stability. The green and brown blur started to slow around them. Olivia kept shaking, until strange sobs started to escape her throat. She could hear them get closer, footsteps and the occasional gun shot or dog bark, on the constancy of a siren backdrop. It was too much.

They were lost in the forest and surrounded on all sides.

_This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening again._ The urge to get out was so great she had to scream. Elizabeth was sure she was in physical pain as Olivia clutched both of her hands in a death grip.

_I have to get home._

She dragged Elizabeth to a crouch, still refusing to let go of her arms.

"_Olivia_," Elizabeth said, trying to reach her. But she was rocking back and forth, submerging herself into a half-catatonic state.

"I can't do this by myself," she whispered, she shuddered.

"Do _what_? Olivia?"

The sunlight pouring through the trees shifted from warm yellow to cold blue and back again.

Olivia passed out cold.

And then the park was silent.

Elizabeth started to panic. Her whole body went cold. Reviving her guide soon proved to be impossible, and she knew that persecutors were abundant and abound.

The two were completely screwed.

Letting out a desperate plea, eyes turned upward, of "oh, God, please," she used all of her strength to hoist up her confidante and, after an immeasurable amount of frenetic searching, found her way out of the woods, the sea of green and brown.

And there were no police officers waiting to arrest them. No sirens, no agents, no quarantines.

In fact, the park was serene. It smelled different – cleaner. And the trees looked…_real._

"Oh, my God," she breathed.

This was extraordinary.

"Ma'am," a man approached. Pointing to Olivia he asked, "Is she okay?"

"No," Elizabeth insisted. All the while, she tried not to smile at the impossible. She dared not believe it was real. Instead she focused on her newfound friend and savior. "I need to get her to a hospital."

_Welcome to your new home._

_

* * *

_

Elizabeth was quickly learning much of this new world.

The man in the park had pulled out a cell phone far past use in her own home. The ambulance they rode in only had one level. She saw actual nature – real green grass, real trees, flowers. She watched a man walk a dog. A nurse openly smoked a cigarette outside the hospital. There was a beautiful abundance of coffee available in the waiting room.

And her money was no good here. Neither was her Show Me.

Gorgeous insanity. She smiled so much most thought she was mad; she _was_ in a hospital. But she didn't care. Being in what seemed to her to be a much better place was freeing and thrilling. She was ecstatic to be in the same world as her son, in a different world as the mess she'd left behind.

Elation was a long-lost prayer until they had crossed over.

But as one night of Olivia's unconsciousness turned into four, and then into a week's worth, she started to panic. Olivia had shown no signs of waking up, and the doctors and nurses were getting anxious.

On the seventh day, they offered Elizabeth her "daughter's" personal effects. That included only the clothes she had brought for Olivia and the cell phone she had lifted off of one of the guards on the other side.

Nothing but the clothes on their backs.

Elizabeth needed to reach her son, and fast. He would want to know about their arrival. Of course, she had imagined showing up in Boston and surprising him, but unfortunately that wasn't possible now.

Now, she needed him to be here for Olivia.

The woman had gotten her this far, and far indeed it was. Elizabeth had to take them the last mile.


	5. Chapter Four

A/N: A thousand good wishes on your household for the abundance of life-giving commentaries on my work.

(Can you tell I'm getting bored?)

* * *

"Hi," Elizabeth said to a bored-looking nurse at the front computer.

"How may I help you, ma'am?" she asked, looking the opposite of helpful.

"I was wondering if you could tell me what the phone number is for my daughter's emergency contact? I think your computers may have my old cell phone number instead of my new one."

"Name?"

"Olivia Dunham."

The woman searched for a minute. "You're Rachel Dunham?" she asked.

_No._

"Yes."

Thank God the nurse wasn't paying attention (or rather, truly, thank _God _the nurse was self-medicating her post-break-up depression with a little morning weed and some late night daytime television), because Rachel was pretty clearly marked _Sister_, not Mother. But Elizabeth was a lucky woman, or had been thus far.

The woman prattled off one set of digits, then another. A home and a cell. Elizabeth deftly typed them into the cell phone she held out of sight.

"Oh, no. That's the right number. Thank you."

* * *

She didn't know who was going to pick up, but she didn't expect it to be Olivia herself.

To be sitting next to her, unconscious, and talking to her, miles away, was so, so strange. But she didn't have time to let that sit in. For all she knew, this girl was the enemy.

"Hello?"

Elizabeth had to force herself to speak. "Hi, I'm looking to speak with Peter Bishop?"

Yes, that would seem odd. But hopefully not odd enough to kill everyone.

"Uh, sure. He's right here." Then, farther away, "Peter, it's for you."

"Hello?"

Elizabeth almost started bawling. The sound of his voice was so nice, like sanity, in a person. Reunion would be so much sweeter this time, much less cautious. They could be a family.

"Hello?" He asked again.

"Peter? It's Elizabeth…it's your mother." This was so wrong, doing it over the phone. She wanted to _see_ her son. She had been deprived of that for so long.

"Mom?" And he sounded like a little kid again. "How…?"

"It's Olivia. Somehow, she brought me here…but Peter, you must know that the woman you're standing next to is not _your _Olivia; she's an imposter."

"No, I know – that wasn't Olivia; that was her sister, Rachel." But, more importantly: "Mom, what happened? Where are you?"

"I'm in New York, on your side. I'm at the hospital. That was the sister? They sound quite a bit alike."

"Yeah, that was the sister." Impatience. Why did he have such easily distractible parents? "Are you _okay_? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. It's not me, it's Olivia."

She could practically hear his heart sink, feel it tangibly in her own chest.

"Olivia's here? Why is she in the hospital?" But he said it like he really didn't want to know.

"She's been unconscious for a week now. She passed out the second we made it over."

"_God_, not again."

She didn't know what that meant, but she could hear such fear and despair in his voice; it was disarming and reeked of heartbreak.

"Peter…I don't know what to do. You need to come."

He didn't think twice.

"I'm on my way."

* * *

(Such sweet relief and such sour anxiety he felt – she was here; she was likely dead. He spent the ride staring at the road and trying not to think too hard. _For the love of Insert Deity Here, stop thinking._)

* * *

Elizabeth sat impatiently, trying not to become complacent with the approaching reason. Trying to stay on alert. Her old bones had traveled far, perhaps too far, and she was desperate for a proper rest.

Thankfully, he made it in before the end of visiting hours. Something told her that he had definitely not driven the speed limit.

On sight, he smiled, relieved. Amazed. They hugged tightly, fiercely, and it was such a suitable impulse.

But he was in a hurry.

"Where is she?"

Elizabeth led him into the room and promptly walked right back out. He needed time alone. He hardly noticed her absence; his eyes were too desperate for Olivia. _His_ Olivia. Almost-washed-all-the-red-out Olivia. I-sleep-with-a-gun-under-my-pillow Olivia. Universe-hopping, ammunition-slinging, confession-making Olivia, badass and irrevocably haunted.

And there she was.

Still.

But still breathing.

He could calm down now. She wasn't on life support this time. Maybe it got easier, the more she did it. Not that he was ever letting her do this again, but it was an interesting nugget to take to Walter.

He edged himself on to her bed, took her hand. He was getting ready to call Broyles when it happened.

Again.

She woke up screaming. _How familiar._


	6. Chapter Five

A/N: Sorry about the wait!

* * *

It's the usual hospital affair. The doctor and his nurses were more than surprised to find their seemingly comatose patient up in arms, or rather, up at all.

"Do you remember the year?"

"Peter, what happened? Where are we?"

"You're home," he assured, resigned, drawn. He didn't want her to go through this again. _But that doesn't excuse you acting like an ass. Step up._ For some reason, the second she woke up, he needed to back off. Wake up. Gallantry and grand revelations could be locked away again. She was alive, so he could think rationally. And of course, when he thought rationally, he came to a realization he couldn't quite stomach.

_Stop thinking._

"Miss Dunham? The _year_."

"It's 2010," and then, under her breath, "jackass." All the while, she tried to stand. A swell of medical professionals interceded in hopes that she'd sit back down. She was obstinate, of course. _That_ got Peter, immediately.

"Sit _down_, Olivia."

He placed a hand on her shoulder. He instantly regretted it.

Strangely, she complied.

* * *

After everything settled down, Peter called his father.

"Walter?"

"Yes, son?"

"Let me ask you something. Both times that this has happened to Olivia, she's woken up when I'm in the room. After I've touched her."

Walter smiled. "What is your question?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't really know."

"Do you want to know if this is – how shall I put this – a man-made reaction of Olivia's, due to outside forces, or maybe a little quirk of Fate? Coincidence? Or perhaps something else entirely?"

"I just want to know what this is."

"I don't have the slightest idea," Walter lied.

* * *

"Who were you talking to?" she asks when he reenters. The doctors relented, like sharp teeth retreating from soft skin, leaving her at peace. Not that being alone was peaceful, at that moment. She'd spent too long being alone.

"Walter," he responded.

She twitched, eyes flashing.

He noticed. She noticed he noticed.

"Are you ready to hear what happened?" She asked, voice grave.

"Are you ready to tell me?" He countered.

She nodded.

And it poured out like a waterfall. He stood at the bottom, getting drenched. Soaked through to the bone.

He didn't know what to say.

* * *

When she fell asleep, he went to find his mother.

He didn't have to go far.

"Hello, Peter." She adopted that same look that she had when he woke up on the other side, when they met again. Like she didn't want to get too attached. But still elated, all the same.

He sat down next to her.

"How is she doing?"

"She's gonna be okay. She always ends up okay."

To Elizabeth, he looked like he didn't believe himself.

"I think she will," she assured.

"Do you?"

"Yes. She's a very strong young woman."

He just nodded.

"Mom, why did you want to come here?" As if he just couldn't fathom it. As if he couldn't hold back from asking any longer.

"I wanted to be on the good side." She half-smiled. A joke that wasn't really joking.

"What about Walter?"

That wasn't something she could precisely answer.

Peter caught that. He redirected. "How'd you decide you wanted to leave?"

"Your note did the trick. But I think the exact moment was when your father came home _that_ night. I told him that you'd gone, and he said, 'well, not all is lost.'" She gave her son a look, like _you cannot say that to a mother, ever,_ then sighed. "I found out later he meant the business with Olivia."

Peter just nodded, thinking hard but not sharing.

_Just like his father._

"Does the sister know anything about this?" She asked.

"Rachel? No, she doesn't know anything. When you called I was feeding her another story."

"Ah, so she wouldn't worry?"

"Yeah. Liv's been in enough 'accidents' to have Rachel perpetually on edge, so I needed to go calm her down before things got crazy." Then, absentmindedly, "Someone's going to have to arrange to bring her—"

"Peter?" Olivia called faintly from her room. She sounded half-asleep.

In that moment, Elizabeth noticed something in her son's long-lost face. Love, caring, protection. Worry. Understanding.

He almost smiled, stood, and kissed his mother on the forehead, returning to his siren caller.

* * *

Deep into the night, they got more visitors. It was practically morning, but in came shuffling three people Elizabeth recognized and yet didn't know at all.

"Elizabeth?" Walter said, as if he were dreaming.

"Hello," she replied uncertainly.

The woman to Walter's right just raised her eyebrows.

The other man cut in. "I'm Special Agent Philip Broyles, with DHS. You're Elizabeth Bishop?"

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

"They're down that hall. _But_ I wouldn't go in there if I were you."

"Why is that?" The man squinted at her, assessing her.

She beamed back conspiratorially, "I think they're kissing in there."


	7. Chapter Six

A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews!

* * *

They were not kissing. They were struggling through the most awkward and significant conversation of their young lives.

It was his turn to tell stories. She had woken from another nightmare in a long succession that she'd been suffering from. She needed to know the truth of what happened now.

So he explained, very simply, that _that woman_ had come back with them, slipped up about two weeks later, and now spent her days in an FBI interrogation room and her nights in a jail cell.

He didn't give her any more information than necessary. She could tell he was withholding. And that worried her beyond belief. What could have happened between them, Peter and the imposter, that would make him cut that story short? She looked into his guarded eyes and feared the worst.

When he was finished, she tried to be direct.

She failed.

"What…how…?" Her voice broke. She looked away, turning her head so she can think. She didn't know how to ask if he slept with her without seeming accusatory. She wasn't mad. She just wanted to know.

"I was gone for three weeks, right?" She started.

"Yes."

"And you said you figured it out the same day we got back – so a week ago?"

"Yes."

"So for two weeks you thought she was me."

"Yes." He lowered his head. It sounded so much worse when she said it like that. Not that he didn't already feel awful about it.

"So…how many of our 'firsts' did she get?"

His eyes sprung up. "What?"

"How many of our, yours and mine, first things did _she_ get to do with you instead of me?"

His brow furrowed. _Oh, God. _He was _not_ expecting this.

"What? First victory kiss, first date, first time we slept together?" _Now_ the words were coming easy. Panic forced them out of her mouth.

"No, absolutely not." He didn't understand her fixation. She wasn't worried about safety; she hadn't even asked about her family. She was worried about something else entirely. Something he was not going to name.

"Why not?" As if it was obvious that they would be together. All the time. That these things would happen immediately.

"She said she needed some space – which, might I add, is a _completely plausible reaction_ from you to all of this." (Not that he was insinuating that she had commitment issues. Right to her face. Nuh-uh, nope.)

She could see it on his face that this was the truth, but something still bothered her into a frown. "Hey, I didn't _lie_ when I said…what I said."

Somehow he understood what she meant. Her grand admission. "I know that, Olivia. I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. It's just not fair." She slumped down a little, feeling like a child.

"No, it's not," he murmured.

"I don't like her," she continued.

He caught something mighty interesting in her expression – disgust, rage, possession.

"Olivia Dunham, are you jealous?"

"_No._"

"I think you might be." This was _so _amusing.

"No, I'm not," she insisted.

He just waited for her confession.

"Just because I'm ridiculously, uh, something with you – for reasons, I might add, that I cannot rationally fathom – that doesn't mean that I'm jealous." She spoke as fast as possible.

His nose twitched as he tried to hold in a laugh.

"I could not possibly be jealous of…_her_." The last word came out as a squeak. He tried not to laugh too hard at her expense.

"So now we're _something_." That was not a question, not really.

There was nothing to hide behind now.

"I suppose so," she agreed cautiously.

_Oh, so _now_ you're getting gun shy?_

"And why is that?"

"Because," she shrugged.

"Excellent answer. Incredibly succinct."

_Alright, enough goading, Bait Boy._ The panic grew in her eyes as her voice dropped down low. She tried not to sound like a ridiculous maniac.

She failed.

"Because everything you do agonizes me." Heart? Broken.

If they were cartoon characters, little zaps of electricity would have flown between them.

He counters by leaning in close, dropping his voice down low. "I sense that you have a very sick and twisted view of whatever this is."

He was joking, still. She needed to make him see something that she herself couldn't really visualize.

"You want to know why? Really?"

"Yes."

"Because I crossed fucking universes for you! I went _nuts_ when you were gone. Do you know what I did when you were gone?"

"What?" He indulged, thoroughly enjoying the cacophony he coerced out of her habitually elusive mind.

"_Nothing. _I did noth—"

She was cut off by his lips. Incredibly persistent, they handled hers expertly.

"So…why exactly?" He teased when he broke away.

"I was in there for two weeks. I spent the whole time thinking about this. I can think of more reasons to do this than to not." Her voice dropped down to whisper, calling upon vulnerabilities he hadn't thought she'd possessed. "Peter, I don't think we're gonna make it through this much longer. We don't have time to lose anymore. I just want you to stick with me, okay?"

He just looked at her. This was completely unexpected. He had a horrible feeling that something was very, very wrong – with her, with everything.

They stayed silent for a long time, and in that time Olivia realized the sheer amount of things she'd said, spoken and implied. And she got very, very nervous.

"Okay," she said faintly. "I've spent too much time confessing things. I think it should be your turn."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"I thought I'd made my opinion on this subject abundantly clear."

"You thought wrong," she said dryly.

"I'm crazy about you." He said it as if she should have known this already.

"Oh," was her brilliant response.

"I did kiss you," he proved.

"Yeah, but I kissed you first. That could have been you just making things even." She pretended to look at this logically. Not like she was angling for more contact.

So he kissed her again.

And again.

"See?" he asked in between kisses. "No more even."


	8. Chapter Seven

A/N: Sorry for the wait!

* * *

Elizabeth didn't know quite how to handle this.

Walter Bishop was staring at her like she was a ghost descended from heaven above. She imagined, to him, she was. To her, though, he was nothing of the sort. He was some weird mix of caretaker and cared-for, and she felt for him some mix of gratitude and animosity.

He was family to her son.

But her son had to be kidnapped for that to happen.

He saved her son's life.

_But her son had to be kidnapped for that to happen._

Paradoxical as it was, Elizabeth imagined something would have to be resolved, or her coming here was completely moot.

Before she had time to think about it, Broyles sat down next to her and eyed her warily.

"You think they're…_what_?"

"Well, I don't know for sure, of course." _Lie. _Mother's intuition can never be wrong. "But besides that, I think it'd be best to give them a minute. They've both been through a lot."

Interestingly enough, Broyles yielded to her authority on the subject and left to make a call.

Which left wide room for Walter to place himself hesitantly beside her. He looked as if at a loss for what to say. Finally, he settled on, "Peter hadn't mentioned that you'd come with." Like he hadn't known she was tagging along to the movies.

This, too, was not the man she married.

"Walter, listen: you saved my son. For that, I will be eternally grateful. But—"

Elizabeth watch fear pass through Walter's face, pure and fierce. He stood up suddenly. "Astro! I think I'll be in need of some Twinkies."

Astrid, who had been pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation, returned to Walter's side, shot Elizabeth an apologetic smile, and led him to the vending machines.

This was going to be difficult.

* * *

Broyles' phone call went a little something like this:

"Hello, Ms. Dunham," he started, name heavy on his tongue, ghost smile. He was ready for the deliverance of satisfaction. "Good news: we've secured _our_ agent back from _your_ agents. Now, I don't know what you make of this, but it seems to me that we now have the upper hand. Interesting how fast things change. How fast things develop. Why, as we speak, our very own Olivia Dunham is making up for lost time with your friend Peter. I'm sure they'd both like to speak with you _very_ soon. But for now, let me leave you with this – you want a war? You can have one. Get ready."

_Click._

_

* * *

_

Elizabeth knocked tentatively on the open door. No, they weren't kissing, but they were hunched close in whispered conversation. They both straightened up when they saw her.

"How are you feeling?" She asked Olivia.

"Fine. Good," she amended after a moment. "How are you?"

"I'm perfectly normal." She meant in comparison to Olivia's reaction to the universe-hopping. Olivia just smiled. This, obviously, was what she intended. Not that there was a conscious effort, because she couldn't really consciously pass between worlds on command. But somehow Olivia knew she had taken the vast brunt of the universe's karmic bitch-slap. And that was as good as she could ask for.

"Would you mind terribly if I borrowed my son for a moment?"

All three of them enjoyed the fact that Elizabeth asked Olivia's permission, as if Peter was a possession of hers. None of them indicated vocally this preference. _One step at a time._

Olivia consented, surreptitiously releasing Peter's hand.

Once they made it out the door, Elizabeth started.

"Walter didn't seem to want to talk to me?"

"What?"

"I just tried to talk to him about this…_situation_, and he panicked."

"Walter's here?"

"Yes, and another woman—"

"Astrid?"

She nodded. "And Agent Broyles."

_Crap._ _That_ was who Peter was forgetting on his Frantic Call Sheet. Typically in any case in which there's something wrong with Olivia, he first calls Astrid, then Rachel, and—before he died—Charlie. He guessed in this case Astrid called him. He'd have to remember that for next time.

Inevitably, there would be a next time.

"I'll talk to him, don't worry about that. He'll come around. He's…" Peter swallowed, and felt oddly, suddenly guilty. "He's scared of people being mad at him and blaming him for things."

Elizabeth looked away, down.

"Just don't worry about it."

She nodded. That would have to be good enough.

He gathered her into a hug.

Peter would never be able to understand the tightness in his chest that happened when he hugged his mom. Maybe because it was so unbelievable. She was there, she was gone, she was back again. Craziness equivalent to Walter being a respected member of society, or Olivia playing hooky from work, or Astrid being mean to someone.

Impossible.

He let her go, smiled, and returned to Olivia.

"Thanks for bringing my mom," he whispered.

She grinned. "No problem." And kissed him to seal the deal.


	9. Chapter Eight

A/N: SO SORRY for the million year wait. This concludes our post-finale journey. Thank you, everyone, for all of your reading and reviewing and the like.

Disclaimer: I really don't own Fringe.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, it was Peter who convinced her to take the two weeks.

Unsurprisingly, she fought him. For about thirteen of those fourteen days.

But she needed the rest; he could see it. Sleeping for a week wasn't actually like sleeping. Not the way she dreamt. And to be honest, it wasn't like she took vacations all the time. She deserved it. And he was eager for her to take it.

They still had a couple things to settle.

One thing, really.

One thing that he cared about.

There were other things that she cared about, so he decided to take care of those, too.

Taking her home was an unfavorable option, but with Peter no longer staying with Walter, it was the only one they had. Thankfully, when they first arrived, Rachel and Ella were out.

Olivia approached her apartment like it was a haunted house – everything looked okay, and house-like, but she was waiting for something horrifying to jump out at her. Peter watched as she went from room to room, checking every nook and cranny, unease clear on her face.

After about a half an hour, she sat down next to him on the couch and just looked at him.

"What?"

"What am I supposed to do now?" she asked.

She looked so lost, he had to laugh.

"Nothing."

"I can't do this. I should be working. I've missed weeks – I have to get caught up."

"Liv, after what you just went through, most normal people would take the two weeks' vacation their boss offered and run."

"Normal people don't do this job. Only crazy people. Crazy, workaholics." She was trying to joke but that was the eerie truth.

"You have to be a workaholic to be in the FBI?"

"Yes. Haven't you ever watched, oh, _any_ TV show?"

"I can't imagine how you have, seeing as how you're a workaholic FBI agent."

She just grinned and rolled her eyes.

"You know he threatened to fire me, right? It wasn't an offer. He said he would fire me if I didn't take it."

He had heard this before, but it was fun to watch her outraged.

"Seriously. What do I _do_ now?"

He leaned in and kissed her, long, slow.

(Well, that wasn't a difficult decision to make.)

* * *

Elizabeth paced her hotel room. Walter, the gentleman that he could have been in another life, called to tell her that he was coming over. While that seemed like the nice, polite thing to do, it actually just left her with a lot of time to, well, pace around her hotel room, hands wringing and mind racing.

She had to calm down, though. Deep breaths.

Three tentative knocks on the door. She opened it to see Astrid – who, it turned out, was quite a lovely girl, over here – quickly retreating, and Walter Bishop walking forward, wide-eyed.

"Hello, Elizabeth," he said, ducking his head.

"Hello, Walter. Won't you come in?"

And he did.

"I wanted to apologize for my behavior a few days ago. I should have listened. I was just so frightened – I trust you realize that we've met before?"

It all came out a bit jumbled, cut off, but sincere. She smiled tightly.

"Yes, I remember."

Of course she did. It was the worst night of her life.

"I hope you can believe me when I tell you that I had every intention of bringing him back." And then his eyes drifted somewhere far beyond her reach. "But when she saw him…I just couldn't." He returned to the present. "I understand that you can't forgive me. But I do hope you'll be able to find peace in Olivia's actions – that you both can be together again."

Elizabeth smiled, less reproachful than before. More genuinely.

"And I hope you won't find me so horrible to also want to spend some time with Peter." Then, he added, sweetly, "I'm quite fond of him, you know."

Elizabeth sighed as quietly as she could. And then smiled, because she couldn't resist. "I think we can come to some sort of agreement."

(And they did.)

* * *

Later, when Peter and Olivia – suspiciously smiley – came to retrieve him:

"Peter – wonderful news! We've decided to share you!" Walter proclaimed, bounding up.

Peter just looked at them.

"Guys, I'm an adult. Not a child. Or a juice box."

(But he smiled nonetheless.)

* * *

On the eleventh day of Peter-induced captivity, she snuck out. It was a Sunday, so the place was semi-abandoned – as abandoned as the Federal building could get. Still, though, they brought _her_ to a interrogation room, in an attempt to bore the information they wanted out of her.

It was fairly easy to get the guy watching her to leave the room for a few minutes. She disabled the security cameras, the sound.

It was just her and herself.

If the imposter was surprised to see her, she didn't show it. Then again, she had spent weeks now being expressionless. She was probably a little rusty.

Olivia sat in the chair across from her.

"Did you sleep with him?" She said it as calmly as possible.

It wasn't that she didn't trust Peter. She did – more than anyone else. But she needed reassurance. Two weeks of too-good-to-be-true. It was getting to her.

"No," the double said simply. "It didn't get that far." Then, chagrinned and honest, "I guess I'm not as good an actress as I thought I was."

"That's not it," Olivia said. And not just to be nice – she meant it. "He just knows me. Better than anyone."

The woman nodded, thoughtful.

"Do you want to go home?" Olivia asked.

She looked up. She must have recognized where Olivia had been. The conditions of her captivity. She swallowed. "I'm sorry about that," the double said suddenly.

"About what?"

"Going after you like that. Turning you in."

Olivia didn't give her any forgiveness, but didn't deny her any, either. She simply asked the woman a question. "Do you want to go home now?"

The double nodded, and begged herself not to tear up.

"I'll see what I can do," Olivia said simply.

"Thank you," the double whispered.

(And to Olivia they didn't seem quite so different after all.)


End file.
